Routine
by Lady Spezz
Summary: Perhaps it was that they fell into some sort of routine. A routine where they got up in the morning, got the family ready, got themselves ready, left for their respective jobs, and came home to eat dinner and fall into bed with exhaustion. Strong T. CxJ.
1. Morning

Claire Standish never thought being married to John Bender would be... well... for lack of a better word, dull.

Twenty years after detention and three kids later, perhaps it was that they fell into some sort of routine. A routine where they got up in the morning, got the family ready, got themselves ready, left for their respective jobs, and came home to eat dinner and fall into bed with exhaustion. Or any variation of that. Sometimes they would bicker for old time's sake, and sometimes they were intimate. But it was always soft and warm, none of the biting need and anger that brought them together in the first place.

Claire sighed as she stared at the ceiling. She was such a cliche. Marrying her first. Her first kiss, love... lover. And he was the resident bad-boy. Her parents had almost had a heart-attack when she introduced him, and when they got married her last year of college, they had almost disowned her. Almost. She was sure they would have if she hadn't ended up pregnant several months later. Now, they seemed to like John. Maybe it was because he had cut his hair, discarded his grungy clothing - at least on the weekdays - and owned one of the most reputable construction companies in all of the North Shore. Or maybe they just finally accepted that he wasn't going anywhere.

She felt said resident bad-boy stir beside her, rolling over towards the front of the room, his arm sneaking around her waist, his fingers tugging at the hem of her nightshirt. She felt his scruffy face against hers as he kissed her cheek. His body was warm and large behind her, his muscles no longer long and lean, but filled out from days lifting lumber and climbing construction sites. But he still had those skinny chicken legs. She smiled as he once again kissed her, lower this time, his full beard tickling her neck. She knew what he wanted.

"John, we have to get up," she said quietly, placing a hand on his smooth chest and pushing lightly.

"The alarm hasn't gone off yet," he breathed into the darkness, moving on top of her in one smooth movement, separating her legs with his knees. Claire could already feel herself giving in, his large fingers starting to unbutton her nightshirt, his lips pressing against her neck.

A female scream interrupted what felt like old times. Claire immediately sat up, slamming her forehead into John's, and they both groaned with pain.

"Ow! What the fuck, Claire?" he complained, clutching his eyebrow as she shoved him off her. Their alarm went off loudly on the bedside table as she heard the scream again.

"GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY ROOM, YOU LITTLE BRAT! MOOOOOM! JOHNNY'S IN MY ROOM AGAIN! TELL HIM TO GET OUT!"

"Christ, we should have Big Bri remove her vocal chords," John muttered, still clutching his throbbing forehead as Claire threw back the blankets and fumbled with the alarm clock, trying to turn it off. It continued to screech at her as her daughter continued to screech at her younger brother until John threw out an arm and smashed the alarm clock into pulp with one swing of his fist.

She glared at him as she turned on the bedside light. "That's the third one this month, John. You go and buy one next time."

"You know how much I hate those god damn things."

Claire sent him another glare as he rolls back over in bed, shoving the pillow down over his face and groaning as the sounds of Elise chasing her brother down the hall thundered past their bedroom door. She grabbed her robe, pulling it on as she threw open the door to see her teenage daughter pinning her teenage son on the ground, trying to grab something from his hand.

Elise glanced over her shoulder, her long copper-coloured hair swishing with the movement. "MOM! TELL JOHNNY TO GIVE IT BACK!"

Claire swore she was never this unruly when she was 16.

"Alright, alright, quit yellin. It's 6:30 in the damn morning," John muttered as he stalked out of the room behind her, wearing only a pair of pajama pants, his long muscled back smooth and tanned and she felt a pang of regret at being interrupted a few minutes ago. She watched as he stomped over to their children, grabbing Elise by the upper arm and hauling her to her feet. She protested loudly until he did the same with Johnny, the 14-year-old boy muttering as he stared at the floor.

"GIVE IT BACK!" Elise was still yelling, trying to reach her brother again, but John kept a tight grip on her arm.

"Alright, Kid, what'd ya steal this time?" John asked their son.

"Dad, Johnny stole my cellphone!" Elise complained, still struggling to get free.

"She's sexting Daniel Krakowski!" Johnny yelled suddenly, pointing an accusing finger at his sister, who turned bright red.

"Shut up, you little-"

Claire could already tell this was going to be a long day. 


	2. Bath

John was pissed, to say the least. After a long week, he finally had Claire right where he wanted her: with her legs wrapped around his thighs and her pink lips soft against his temple.

He knew she had been awake when he heard her sigh lightly, and he also knew that if he moved fast, when the alarm went off in a few minutes, he could slam it into snooze without so much as a peep of protest from her. And although John loved his kids, sometimes he just wanted to wring their necks. But John wasn't his father's son, and so when Elise went screaming down the hall after her brother, he knew that he had missed his chance.

It wasn't as if sex with Claire was all he ever thought about. Sure, there was his ever-strong nicotine addiction, the daily calls from Shermer High complaining about one thing or another, a pain-in-the-ass client at work, or his weekly hang-outs with Coach Andy Clark and Dr. 'Big Bri' Johnson... but sex with Claire was becoming an increasingly rare thing in his life, and he wasn't happy about it.

And now he had the accusation that his precious first-born was sexting some punk named Daniel Krakowski? He could practically feel his blood boiling as he glared at his daughter, his trade-mark unblinking stare making her cower against the wall. John let both her and her brother go, glancing to where Johnny still clutched the bright pink flip-phone in his hands, his dark eyes wide under his father's gaze.

"Claire, you wanna get in on this?" John asked, pointing to the cellphone. But she was one step ahead of him, grabbing the offending device from Johnny's hands and flipping it open. There were a few beeps and his wife paled, slamming the phone shut in a hurry.

"You, young lady, are grounded!" she hissed, suddenly blushing almost as red as her hair.

"Aw, mom!" Elise complained. "It's not that big of a deal!"

"Not that big of a deal?" Claire repeated, her brown eyes narrowing. John smirked as he recognized his own glaring techniques on her pretty face. He had taught her well.

"But I'll miss Jake's party this weekend!" Elise shrieked, suddenly realizing her mother is serious.

"Well, isn't that just too bad? I guess you should've thought of that before... before... THIS!" Claire held up the phone, and John felt the urge to grab it and smash it into little bits with one of his biggest hammers from the garage. "Now both of you, get ready for school, and I don't even want to HEAR another sound out of either of you!"

"Yes, ma'am," Elise muttered.

Johnny didn't say anything, flipping his growing hair out of his eyes and shuffling back down the hall. John watched their retreating backs as the house once again goes silent, and Claire sighed, pocketing the cellphone.

"How bad was it?" John asked, his eyes on the rectangular shape in her robe pocket.

"Bad enough." She looked up at him, then stood on her tiptoes and gave him a brief kiss. "You can get rid of it later. You need a shower, I'll go wake up Henri."

John wasn't sure why exactly he had let her give two of his kids French names, but all she had to do was kiss him with those soft lips of hers or bat those brown eyes, and he would've let her name them almost anything. He watched with a smile as Claire's work was done for her, their eight-year-old son stumbling out of his room with a confused look on his young face.

He looked up at his mother, then over at his father, his brown eyes lighting up. "Hey, dad!" he chirped.

"Mornin, Kid. You ready for school yet? The bus'll be here soon."

"Sure, dad!" Henri scrambled back into his room and Claire laughed lightly, raising an eyebrow back at John. He sneered playfully at her before heading toward the bathroom, the irony of the light-hearted conversation with his son not lost on him.

..

The bathroom filled with steam from the shower, John wiped the moisture off the mirror with the palm of his hand. Claire was sure to scold him about it later. She always told him that it left marks when he did that, but he didn't see what the big deal was.

His reflection looked back at him in the mirror and he sighed at it, wondering if he should clip his beard today. He liked to keep it short, close to his skin, but the extra growth did keep his face warm against the bitter Chicago wind when he worked outside all day. John examined his face critically. There were a few extra lines around his eyes, and his jaw had filled out slightly, but other than that, he looked pretty much the same as he always did. Same large brown eyes, same hooked nose, same thin lips, same thick neck. Just shorter hair, parted off to the side a bit.

That and the fact that he needed glasses now. John hated the damn things, but he couldn't wear contacts, not with all the sawdust and dirt that was flying around all day. Elise always teased him about his retro-looking glasses, but their oblong circular shape somehow seemed at home on his nose and he despised the thought of having Claire drag him back to the optician's office to get another pair, so he had kept these ones.

There was a slam on the bathroom door. "DAAAAAD! Hurry up! The bus'll be here in 20 minutes and I have to straighten my hair!"

Who would've thought that with two boys, their main troublemaker would've been Elise, their red-headed, once-sweet-as-pie daughter?

John sighed as he opened the door, tying his robe shut before Elise comes barreling past him, face frantic. John couldn't help but frown at the amount of makeup she's wearing. He knew what the boys at school would think of her. Hell, he'd been 16 once, and he didn't like the thought of Elise hanging out with anyone similar to what he was like back then. To some degree, what he was still like.

"JOHNNNN! Hurry up! Hank called - apparently the City wants to talk to you about some new zoning regulations!" Claire called from downstairs, and John sighed. Somehow he had grown up in the past 20 years, and although he didn't regret it, he wasn't sure if it suited him. 


	3. Kitchen

"Johnny, be sure to tell Mrs. Smith about your dentist appointment next Tuesday - I put the note in the front pocket of your backpack. And I don't want ANY more phone calls about you being caught smoking on school property - or smoking at all!"

"Dad smokes!" Johnny protested, and Claire winced at his usual argument.

"Yes, and one day he'll get lung cancer and we'll have to bury him before he's 60. Do you want that?"

"MOOOOM! There's a message from Aunt Allison on the phone! She says she'll be at the gallery around 11 to show you the progress on the exhibit!"

"MOM! Elise stole my watch!"

"What on Earth could she want with your watch?"

"Tell her to give it back!"

"I don't have it!"

"Where's my math book?"

"MOOOOOOOM! DAD'S NAILING MY WINDOW SHUT!"

"Hey, I know what's it's like to be 16! And Bender kids are the craftiest of them all! Trust me, Elise, I know ALL the tricks, so don't even think of tryin em!"

"JOHN! Your coffee's getting cold!"

"Yeah, then zap it for 30 seconds, Princess! Christ..."

"DAD SWORE!"

"Oh, for..." Claire could feel a headache coming on, even though this was typical morning chatter/yelling in the Standish-Bender household. She had a feeling all the neighbours and the houses even the next street over could hear the ruckus that occurred in her kitchen every morning around 7:30 a.m.

She looked up as John came sauntering down the stairs, one of his favourite hammers in his hand and a smug smirk on his face as Elise came shrieking after him. He was wearing usual work attire, ripped dark canvas pants, held up by suspenders over a long-sleeved white shirt, hiding the fading scars inflicted upon him by a lit cigar.

Claire watched as her kids hurried to get ready for school, bundling up to face the January weather. John, like he did every morning, helped Henri tie his boots, Johnny zipper his backpack up, and Elise from falling as she tried to walk in whatever new pair of shoes she bought. He high-fived all three of the kids as they head out the door, even a disgruntled Elise, and watched from the doorway until they climbed onto the school bus.

Somehow she had tamed John Bender. It made her feel a little guilty, like she had drug some wild horse into the coral and beat it until it obeyed. Sometimes she would tell him this, and he would just snort and tell her that he had to grow up some day. She just hadn't expected it to be so easy.

Sure, the first four years of their relationship were rocky, to say the least. They fought and made up at least twice every week, they were always struggling to pay bills on their crappy studio apartment as she went to school and he worked long hours at a construction job, and as she struggled with her new-found 'middle class' status, John struggled with kicking his habits and trusting her. But somehow they had come out the other side relatively unscathed.

And now here he was, older and stronger, looking rather distinguished for someone who used to spend every Saturday of his last two years in highschool locked in the library for detention. And here he was complaining about his cold coffee.

"I told you it was ready 10 minutes ago," Claire replied as he raised his fading eyebrows at her. He heated it up in the microwave as he fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, opening the kitchen window as he went. She gave him a disapproving look.

"What, you gonna kick me out on the cold step, Princess?" he challenged, talking around the cigarette.

"No."

He smirked at her, lowering his eyes to her slim-fitting business suit, his eyes lidded as he took in the dark navy pencil skirt, his hand reaching out. "You know, if you didn't look so good in it, I'd hate that damn thing," John said, lighting the cigarette and blowing the smoke out the window. He grinned wolfishly. "It's hard to tear off in a hurry."

Claire lightly smacked him on the arm. "John." She clucked her tongue in reprimand. "Hurry or you'll be late."

He glanced at the clock, then back at her. He held the cigarette out at arm's length as he leaned in and gave her a short kiss goodbye. She straightened his glasses as he pulled away.

"Don't fall off any buildings today, John."

"Don't break any hearts today, Princess." 


	4. Bus

Elise Bender hated the bus almost as much as she hated going to school. She had begged her parents for a car, tried crying even, but her mother rolled her eyes, and her father saw straight through her tears. They were a strange pair, she knew. She had heard stories about John Bender, but none of them really matched up with her father. She assumed they were only tall-tales. Sure, he could be a bit scary at times, with that glare of his that could make even the toughest boys that showed up at the door turn and run for their lives. But there was no way he could be the same John Bender who smoked weed every lunch in the parking lot, who supposedly had carried a switchblade, and who made Principal Vernon shudder in his squeaky black shoes.

Definitely not.

Her dad wore the dorkiest pair of glasses she'd ever seen, for God's sake. And he snuck cigarettes in the kitchen when he thought her mother wasn't paying attention. He whistled band marches in his spare time. But the thing that made Elise so sure that there were two different John Benders was the way he was so grossly in love with her mother. He would kiss her every morning before leaving to work, and kiss her every evening when coming home. Without fail. Even when they were in the middle of a fight over something trivial, he would glare at her, grab her around the waist, and plant a big one right on her mouth. Sometimes she thought he enjoyed the way her mother would smack him after the fact. She was pretty sure her mother enjoyed it too.

And her mother... well, Elise knew everything she needed to know about her mother from one of the many portraits on the auditorium wall, and a specific one labelled, "Claire Standish. Prom Queen 1984." Elise wondered who her date was.

Sometimes she could hear them. It didn't help that her bedroom was across from theirs. Mostly they just talked, or argued, but sometimes she could hear the telltale sounds of the bed creaking lightly and a low chuckle. She could hear her father say her mother's name, call her one of the assortment of nicknames he had for her, and the bed would creak more rapidly. She wasn't sure whether to be grossed out, or admire the fact that they still got it on after all this time.

Elise looked out the bus window as she sat by herself, ignoring the chaos of the bus around her. Johnny was telling dirty jokes to his best friend, Peter Clark, and they were laughing loudly in the seat behind her. She rolled her eyes as Johnny started telling Peter what had occurred this morning with her cellphone. She'd kill him later.


	5. Office

Claire arrived at the art emporium around 9:10. 10 minutes late. Checking her schedule with her assistant, Melanie, she took a peek into the fashion showroom to see a few customers mingling, checking out the merchandise. She was proud of what she had accomplished after acquiring the store from her former boss. What was once an interesting boutique of fashion, jewelry and art had transformed into one of the most infamous stores in downtown Chicago. Critics raved about her art nights, every woman in the greater area came here to shop for a special dress, and designers from all over the country wanted to display their pieces in the main shop area.

John goaded her for being proud of this type of store, but she didn't care. It paid the bills - quite handsomely - and she loved doing it.

Smiling at her front desk receptionist, Claire made her way to the back of the building and into her office. Her solitude. It was small, cramped, and had no window, but it was also quiet and housed some of her favourite pieces. She sighed at the blinking light on her answering machine, and pressed the button to hear them.

"Fifteen messages," said the electronic voice back at her. As she listened, she checked her appearance with her compact, making sure her shoulder-length red hair wasn't out of place after the long drive into the city from Shermer. The effects of three children was evident on her face. She looked tired, when she smiled there were crows feet at the edges of her eyes, and try as she might she could never get back to her pre-pregnancy weight. And although it was a long time ago and she was now married to the man who said it, she still thought back on what John told her in the library.

"_You're gonna get married, you're gonna squeeze out a few puppies, and then-_" She could still see his expression as he puffed out his cheeks and mimicked her. She knew he did it just to get a rise out of her, but it had struck a nerve then, and it still did today. Nowadays John would catch her looking dejected at her reflection in the mirror and he would seem to know what was wrong. He would tease her about it, but then he would wrap his entire arm around her waist to prove he thought she was crazy for worrying. He would kiss her with his furry face and run his calloused hands over the skin of her stomach and lower back, and she would temporarily forget her worries.

The machine beeped to let her prepare for its last message, dated five minutes ago, and the recorded voice made her freeze.

"Mrs. Bender? This is Mrs. Smith, Johnny's homeroom teacher. I just thought you'd like to know that Johnny hasn't shown up yet today."

Claire could feel her fingers tighten into fists. Damn those Bender genes. It was a close game between Elise and Johnny who was the bigger pain in her side. While John tended to give it to Elise, she thought Johnny came a very close second, and she dreaded the day her Henri became a teenager. Sometimes she worried that Johnny shared more in common with John than just his first name and floppy brown hair.

Now what was she supposed to do? She was all the way down in the city, and if she called John - if she could even get a HOLD of him - he would just guffaw and say that the kid deserved a break from the tediousness of homeroom. She knew him just too well.

As if to make up for the wrongs his father inflicted upon him, John walked a thin line between father-figure and cool older brother. She wasn't sure if their kids bought it completely, especially when he started cursing and pulling out every trick in his rather large book of intimidating facial expressions. But with every well-placed glare, he would offer worldly advice, teaching Johnny how to hit on girls, showing Elise how to light a match with her teeth - much to Claire's dismay - or doing his best impressions of Principal Vernon. Although yet to be truly tested, Claire often wondered what John would do if he caught Johnny smoking up or Elise bringing a boy into her room.

Her phone rang again. She reached for it.

"Claire Bender."

"Claire, Mr. Daley is on line 2 for you."

"Thanks, Melanie."

It was 90 minutes later when Claire finally got off the phone with Daley, and the second she put down her phone, it rang again. "Claire, Mrs. Clark is here to see you."

Finally, something to look forward to.

"Thanks, Melanie, send her in."

Claire stood up in preparation and was walking around her desk when Allison walked in, her face lighting up as she grinned, hauling in two massive canvases with her.

"For goodness sakes, Allison! WHAT are you doing, lugging those things around! That's what the boys out back are for! Didn't they offer to take those in for you?" Claire asked worriedly, quickly taking the bulky luggage from Allison's hands, looking down at her rounding stomach.

"As if I would let those buffoons touch these," Allison huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Allison, you're 7 months pregnant, you can't-"

"Claire." Allison jutted out her chin in her direction. "Shut up."

"Fine." Claire stepped back to place the canvases against the wall. She smiled, looking at the lithograph prints, their strange colours and shapes somehow so beautiful. "I knew you had these last two in you. They're stunning."

Allison grinned sheepishly. "Thanks, Claire." Claire grinned at Allison's modesty, watching as she carefully stroked the top of her stomach. After having Peter, it had taken her and Andy almost 14 years to get pregnant again, and although Claire knew she could take care of herself, she made sure to keep an extra eye out.

"I'm confident that we can at least get 20 grand a piece for these. I was just on the phone with Mr. Daley, and he's very interested in the show next week."

"I'll be happy with whatever," Allison said quietly. Claire smiled as she lead her into a seat.

"I know. Now, how's everything?"

"Oh, y'know." Allison shrugged, tossing her bangs out of her face.

"Andy?"

"Good."

"Peter?"

"Well, you know that he and Johnny got in trouble for skipping English the other day."

Claire winced. "Sometimes I worry about the two of them."

Allison laughed. "Relax, Claire. We used to do much worse."

Claire grinned sheepishly, remembering the last year of highschool where the five of them used to skip every Friday afternoon to go and smoke out by the bleachers. Then get caught and spend the Saturday in detention doing the same thing. She was sure she had spent almost five Saturdays in detention senior high, which wasn't that many in the long run, but it was a lot for her, and five too many for both Andy and Brian, who needed scholarships. They both received them of course, but their parents were none too thrilled about their sudden delinquencies.

"John was a bad influence on all of us," Claire huffed as she sat next to Allison. "It's a wonder we all passed Study Hall."

"At least it was only Study Hall. Can you imagine Mr. Ryan's face if you and John started making out during World History?" Allison asked, laughing as she saw Claire blush at the memory.

"Thank God we didn't have any other classes together."

"Thank God there were those desks behind the bookshelf in Study Hall so we all didn't have to watch the two of you go at it," Allison grinned as she checked her watch. "C'mon, Claire, we should get going if we want to meet Brian and Suzanna for lunch."

"Right."


	6. Mud

John swore Jason McLaughlin was out to make his day miserable. It was holdup after holdup, and it wasn't just the fact that he was losing money and time while everyone sat on their asses, it was that McLaughlin was the local councilman and John hated his smarmy guts. With that bushy moustache and slicked back hair... every time John laid eyes on him, he knew two things: that he wanted to punch him, and that he was in for a day of rearranging his schedule.

Storming towards the main trailer with the trademark swagger he perfected in junior high, John spied the chief engineer, Hank, arguing loudly with McLaughlin. Just the sight of that pin-striped suit and oily head made John's anger spike. He was about to start yelling, when one of the office lackeys poked his head out the trailer door.

"Bender, phone's for you!" he yelled.

John passed McLaughlin and Hank on his way up, his boots squelching in the warming mud. He pointed at McLaughlin accusingly while looking at the engineer. "Do whatever the hell he needs, Hank. Just get us back on schedule before the fuckin day is over, and then send the bill to the fuckin mayor."

"I'm working on it, John."

"Well, work faster." He stomped up the wooden steps to the trailer and slammed the door after him. Everyone in the trailer immediately tried to look busy and John glared around at them all as he answered the phone. "Bender!"

"Hi, John."

The sound of Claire's voice immediately sent all the blood rushing down past John's stomach. He muttered something at the room before pulling the phone into the back office and slamming the door, on the cord and all.

"What's up, Cherry?" Even though the nickname was no longer relevant, it still flowed easy off his lips. He could hear the annoyance in her voice as she answered and it made him smile to know it still got under her skin.

"I've just got back from lunch and received a phone call from the school."

"Fuck, what now?" John ran his tired hand over his forehead and took his glasses off to massage his burning eyes.

"They want us to come in this afternoon."

"What the fuck for? I'm in the middle of some serious shit, Claire!" John walked over to the window and peered out as he twirls the diamond earring still in his ear, nestled below the conch piercing.

"Oh, and as if I'm not? I have to cancel an important meeting!"

"Why don't you just go and give ol' Dick my best regards? I doubt he'll be torn over not seeing my handsome face for one week."

"John."

"Fuck. Fine! What time?"

"1:30."

"And which one is it this time?" John sighed, sitting down beside the desk and putting his boots up on the corner of it, leaning back. It seemed that despite his best efforts, he just couldn't keep away from Shermer High for more than two weeks ever since Elise enrolled in the ninth grade. If it wasn't a box of firecrackers going off in her locker, it was her habit of swearing at her teachers. Apparently they cracked down a lot harder on that sort of thing these days. And now two years later, he was seeing much more of Richard Vernon - who for some God unknown reason was still there - than he would have ever thought possible. The things he did for his kids.

"I'm not sure," Claire replied. "The secretary just said that it was urgent, and that Vernon would like to see us both."

"Great, it must be fuckin awful if Dick wants me there."

"Well, I doubt he specifically asked for you..."

"He probably just wants to 'knock my dick in the dirt'," John snorted. "Fuckin prick." There was a silence on the other end of the line and John sighed as he looked back out the window, watching McLaughlin walking around the construction site, ignoring Hank waving a mandatory hard-hat at him. John hoped he fell down a hole.

"Claire?" The line was still silent as John refocused his attention. He could hear her breathing in his ear through the phone, and it made his throat constrict. "Hey, Claire."

"Yeah." She sounded distracted.

"What are you wearing?" John grinned, knowing he was in for an earful, but it didn't matter. He figured he had a few minutes for Claire to yell at him. To his surprise, she hesitated.

"You know what I'm wearing," she finally replied, her voice suddenly soft.

John glanced at his phone, making sure no one was listening on the line before taking his boots off the edge of the desk and sitting up straighter. "Are you gonna tell me, or are you just going to tease me all fuckin day?"

"John..."

If he had been 15 years younger, the sound of her voice saying his name was all it would've taken for him to need a change of pants. But he was almost 38 now and anything short of her spread-eagle on the desk before him just wouldn't cut it.

"I'm waiting..." he says quietly into the phone, throwing a wary glance at the door just incase someone were to walk in.

"I'm wearing the bra you gave me for our anniversary last year... you know, the red one. With the lace."

Oh, fuck, was he ever done for. In over his head. He could feel his pants start to tighten. "Yeah? What else?" His voice sounded rough, harsher than he would've liked and he winced.

"I'm-"

There was a sudden slam on the office door. "John, let's get this show on the road!" Hank yelled through the wooden barrier.

"Fuck. Listen, Claire, I've gotta go-"

She laughed, and it almost felt like a mock. "Bye, John. See you at 1:30. Meet me on the front steps."

"Bye." John slammed down the phone into its cradle, quickly fixing himself before storming over to the office door. Hank was dead.


	7. Steps

Claire was intimidated to go into the highschool by herself. Sure, she had been there on countless occasions in the past two years, but it was always a parent-teacher interview after hours, or a weekend activity that she attended with Allison. The last time she was in Shermer High during a school day was Friday, June 15 1984, the last day of her senior year.

She remembered it a bit too well, considering it was 20 years ago. She had spent all morning trying to get her hair and makeup just perfect for the last day, only to have it fall flat as soon as she stepped outside. It was humid that day. Cloudy, thunderstorms rolling in the distance, mist. She remembered her blouse sticking to her back, and the smell of the old car John was driving as he picked her up 10 minutes late. She could still hear him swearing at her as she complained about his tardiness, and they argued all the way to school only to end up making out heavily in the driver's seat, resulting in completely missing first period.

Claire sighed, looking around the entrance for a place to sit before finally giving in and flopping down on the top of the front steps, thankful for her long coat giving her body some heat from the cold concrete. She checked her watch. 1:25. She hoped John wouldn't be too late.

She remembered how he hadn't shown up for lunch that day, and Andy mentioned that he saw him walking towards the bleachers with the rough crowd he usually smoked up with. He was late then too, finally appearing with 15 minutes left of lunch, his breath and hands smelling strongly of weed as he stole the last part of her food. She had avoided his lips meeting her cheek, and he had slammed his hand angrily into the table before distracting Brian from finishing his last physics assignment.

Her 'friends' had long since abandoned her, unable to comprehend why she would prefer to hang out with the so-called "Breakfast Club", and Claire was surprised to learn that she didn't care. She certainly hadn't missed them. It had taken her longer than the rest to come to terms with what happened that Saturday in March. She avoided all four of them, even Andy, that first week after, feeling both guilty and jealous, watching from afar as John took Brian under his wing, and Andy and Allison paid no mind to the rumours circulating their relationship.

It wasn't until John had come stalking down the hall toward her locker one day, ignoring the shocked expressions on her clique's faces, and slammed his hand so hard into the wall above her head that it left a dent the size of his fist, that she rose above her mistake. His face had been so deadly angry and hurt simultaneously. She had wanted to melt into a pool of shame right there on the sticky hallway floor to get away from him, his accusing glare.

"So much for a change, huh, CHERRY?" he had spat in her face, his breath reeking of cigarette smoke. "You learn fuckin nothing last Saturday? Just ran back to your fuckin friends, didn't you?" He had grabbed her face then, cupping her chin with his long fingers, his grip firm but not pressing, as if afraid to hurt her. She saw with a shock that he was still wearing the diamond earring. It took her all of three seconds to commit social suicide, launching herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him. Her clique was gaping, and there were cat-calls from down the hall, but she hadn't cared. John's lips were stiff against hers, shocked, and it took him a moment to respond from the surprise. Then he had pressed her back against the lockers and kissed the living life out of her.

The group had welcomed her back easily, asking no questions, and she was glad. They became practically inseparable after that, and she had never been so happy.

So when John had started up the last day of school with his angry glare, and sullen attitude, she couldn't figure out what was bugging him. His torso and arms showed no signs of recent arguments with his father - she would know, having gotten his shirt off earlier that morning in the car - and although he was graduating by the skin of his teeth, he was still graduating. He had stormed off again once the bell rang for third period, and she hadn't seen him again until the middle of their last Study Hall, when he sauntered in halfway through, giving Mr. Saunders, their monitor, a sarcastic salute before heading towards the back desks where they sat.

"Where were you?" Brian asked him as he sat down, kicking his boots up heavily onto the side of the desk.

"What do you care?" he had snarled and Brian had looked at Claire as if for some explanation. She had just shrugged, wordlessly, at him. It wasn't as if they had any assignments that period, seeing as though it was the last of their high school careers, but the four of them suddenly wished they had something to do to break the tense silence.

Andy finally spoke. "What the hell's your problem?" he snapped as John glared at him.

"Fuck you, Sporto."

"Seriously, Bender."

"Don't get your tights in a wad."

"It's the last day of school. Quit acting like a motorhead."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is my attitude pissin you off? Good thing you only have to put up with me until September when you can go and roll around with other guys until the cows come fuckin home."

Claire smiled at the memory of John's hurt expression, trying to hide it behind his hair. She shivered in the cool air, checking her watch again. 1:28. She looked up as a beat-up truck came screeching into the school parking lot, finally pulling up beside the front steps. John climbed out of the front seat, slamming the door loudly after him as he came walking towards her, not wearing a jacket and the brisk winter wind ruffling his shirt to his torso.

"What in the hell are you waitin out here for, Claire? You'll catch a fuckin cold," John said as he took the steps two at a time and before Claire could even stand up, he grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her into the front entrance, between the two sets of doors.

"I was just reminiscing," she smiled at him. Then frowned. "You're covered in sawdust, John." She started dusting the wood shavings off his shoulders and he was still as she fixed his appearance.

"Reminiscing about what?" he mumbled as she took the glasses off his nose and started wiping them off with the hem of his shirt. She settled them back on his face and ran her hands through his hair, shaking out the sawdust.

"About the last day of school here. And how you were all upset because you thought we were going to ditch you for our cooler college friends."

John rolled his eyes, but she saw a tinge of pink around his ears. Then he gave her a stern look. "I would've thought you'd remember that day for something else, Miss. Standish."

"Mrs. Bender," Claire corrected him softly, teasing him as she took a step closer, pressing her front against his chest.

"Was that night not memorable enough for you?" John asked, his voice rough as his strong fingers wrap around her arm tightly. "It was, after all, the day I could stop accurately calling you a cherry."

Claire tried not to blush at the memory. "Shut up." She could still feel the humidity of that night in her bones. The feeling of his smooth chest and shoulders as she clutched them tightly in pain, his lips against her neck, the groan from his throat as he finally-

"Claire?" John was smirking at her as if he knew exactly where her mind was. She immediately checked her watch. She couldn't get into that now, not with Vernon waiting for them down the hall... She swallowed heavily before setting her shoulders and turning on her heel, heading into the school.

**A/N: Sorry about the long wait! My how time flies...**


	8. Shame

Claire's hand tightened against John's as they walked down the familiar halls of Shermer High. He put out his free hand and let his fingers touch the edges of the locker rows, the locks banging against the metal as he went. When they turned the corner next to the office, they came face to face with the open library doors.

John tugged on her hand, but Claire resisted. "We're already late-"

"So what? C'mon, we'll just take a peek." John pulled her towards the library and noted with amusement as she threw a nervous glance over her shoulder to the office behind them. The library was empty, save for the front librarian who gave them a suspicious look, and a few kids on the computers against the far wall. The desks were still set up the same, three rows divided down the middle, and the statue behind them.

John wondered for a minute what the hell that statue was supposed to represent, anyways.

His eyes landed on the front desk where Claire once sat. Where she had first spoke to him. Where he had bullied her, insulted her, practically sexually harassed her, and he felt a flash of guilt as he glanced over to his wife. She was staring in the same direction, her face flushing. John recalled leaning over her desk, the smell of her perfume, giving her the once-over while telling her he'd bet a million dollars on her virginity. The quiet voice she spoke in as she told him she was going to puke.

"Hey, Claire?"

"Hm?"

"You wanna go sit down and I'll hide under the table again?"

She smacked him across the chest.

"Mr. and Mrs. Bender?" a voice called from across the hall, and they both turned to look at the secretary sitting at her desk behind them. She was a plump woman with short brown hair and rectangular glasses, wearing an expression of distaste. "Principal Vernon is waiting for you."

John rolled his eyes as Claire yanked him towards the office in embarrassment. "I'm so sorry we're late," she was gushing. "Traffic was horrendous, you know? And Mr. Bender here, well, he just wanted to peek into the library for old time's sake, you know? We used to go to school here-"

"I'm aware," the secretary said dryly, giving John a once-up-and-down with narrowed eyes. He swallowed heavily, suddenly feeling nervous. He wished he was back at his construction site, yelling at McLaughlin as he watched over his shoulder. "You can go in." The secretary pointed to the office to the left and John saw Vernon sitting behind his desk, watching him with a very displeased look on his aging face.

"Dick!" John grinned, holding out his arms as he walked towards the office. "What, no greeting for your dear ol' student? Didn't you miss me these past few weeks? Honestly, I'm hurt." He put a hand to his chest and did his best lost puppy dog look. Claire pushed him into the office from behind and shut the door ominously. John looked around the room with false interest. "You've really spruced up the place. Is that a new plant? You'd better be careful, I hear you need a real green thumb to get these things to live. And we all know the only place your thumb has been is up your own-"

"Siddown, Bender!" Vernon snapped, cutting him off abruptly.

John looked to where two chairs were placed in front of the desk and Claire practically shoved him into one before taking the other. She stared, horrified, as John lifted his legs and crossed his ankles as he rested his boots on the corner of Vernon's desk, muddying a stack of papers in the process. Vernon didn't glance at them, just continued to glare at John.

"So..." Claire cleared her throat. "Mr. Vernon-"

"Principal Vernon," Vernon interrupted, a nasty look on his face, and John wanted to reach across the desk and smack it off him.

Claire continued as if she wasn't interrupted, "-what's this about? Could this not have waited? Both John and I work during the day-"

"Yes, well, Ms. Standish-"

"Mrs. Bender," John snarled, correcting him. Vernon smirked, knowing full well what Claire's last name was. He kept his gaze locked on John's as he continued speaking to Claire, ignoring John's correction.

"Ms. Standish... I however, do not work during the evening. And as ... pleasant... as our bimonthly conversations about your ... delightful children have been, I refuse to spend anymore of my free time dealing with their regular delinquencies."

John rolled his eyes. "Aw, c'mon, Dick, they're fuckin kids. Cut them a little slack. They're just acting out cause they've a schmuck like you for a Principal-"

"John," Claire hissed.

John ignored her. "And really, isn't it time you retired already? You were a prick back when I was here, and by the look of things, you haven't changed much-"

"Alright, Bender, that's quite enough, or would you like me to ensure every single one of your children is in Saturday detention from now until they graduate?"

John finally shut his mouth, feeling Claire's gaze burning a hole into the side of his face. She reached over and grabbed his thigh, her fingers pressing into the bone so tight he clenched his teeth together to prevent himself from making a noise in protest. Vernon watched them carefully as he reached over and pressed the button for his intercom.

"Send him in please," he said into the speaker. He pulled away, leaning back with a smirk and his gaze flickering from John to Claire. "I'm not sure why you married this sack of shit, Standish but I think it's time you had a wake-up call about those kids."

"Excuse me?" Claire asked stiffly.

"I'll tell you you should've did away with the problem when you had a chance."

John saw Claire pale, and Vernon's words slowly sunk in. _Did away with the problem...?_ He saw the tears in Claire's eyes, and the meaning behind it crashed down on him, the shame and guilt suddenly sending those hot pulsations back behind his eyes. _So this is what everyone thought._

He removed his boots casually from the corner of the desk, continuing to watch Claire as she stared at her shaking hands, one still clutching onto him painfully, her shield of long red hair falling over her shoulder. He could feel his heart suddenly pump heavily with anger, and he knew that if Claire wasn't sitting beside him, holding onto his knee so tight her knuckles have turned white, he would've reached across the desk and tried to strangle Vernon.

He leaned towards Vernon, tilting his head as if confused. "What did you just say, Dick," he asked, his eyes wide. "You couldn't have just told my wife here that she ought to have had an abortion, did you?"

"John-"

He could feel himself rising out of his seat, hands latching onto the edge of the desk, leaning over towards Vernon. "You're an even bigger piece of shit than I imagined, Dick. I hope you haven't expressed your opinion to our young, impressionable son... or perhaps his sister?" He reached into his pants pocket then, pulling out the switchblade he still carried, flicking it open. The click echoed around the room with an audible snap. "Because if you so much as even think of putting that idea in those kids' heads, I'll kill you."

"John! Sit down!" Claire grabbed the back of his suspenders and pulled him back into the chair. He's still glaring at Vernon, who's staring back at him carefully. John was breathing heavily through his nose, Claire's hands on his arm, stroking lightly. There was a knock on the door then and Claire quickly grabbed the still open switchblade from his grasp, carefully closing it and storing it in her purse.

"Uh, Mr. Vernon?" Johnny's quiet voice asked as he shuffled into the room, his dark eyes purposely avoiding his parents'. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, Bender," Vernon said, still looking warily at John. "Get in here."

**A/N: Ugh, it's been so many months since I'd written this chapter that I forgot how much I hated it. Ah well, it was a (somewhat) necessary evil. Please review! :)**


	9. Legacy

Johnny Bender was worried as he walked towards Vernon's office. Sure, he shouldn't have pulled that fire alarm, but Thomas had told him to do it, and he didn't want to seem chicken in front of the punk kid at school. It wasn't his fault that Vernon had been right around the corner. What was he supposed to have done? He would've been the laughing stock of the entire ninth grade. He had to gain some sort of 'street cred' if he were to ever live up to his father's name. He was reminded on almost a daily basis of the havoc John Bender Sr had created for the teachers and staff at Shermer High. There was still some graffiti scrawled in the ceilings of the library that marked his name, and some crude drawings in the back gym lockers.

Right now, all the 'cred' he had was the highest grade in Science class (so what if his Uncle Brian had taught him most of what he knew), and panicking after Vernon found him at the fire alarm by running down the hall instead of acting suave.

Johnny kicked an empty coke can towards the lockers, shuffling his feet in an effort to drag on the march towards the office. He wondered what Vernon would do to him. Would he be expelled? He heard of kids being expelled before. But surely he had to do something awful, like sell drugs or get drunk during English. Johnny had heard of kids doing that before too. Another one of his father's legacies.

Johnny sighed as he pulled his feet into the office, staring at the floor. "I'm here to see Principal Vernon," he mumbled at the secretary, avoiding her gaze. The intercom on her desk crackled then and Vernon's voice was heard.

"Send him in."

The secretary glanced cooly at him. "Go ahead."

"Uh... okay. Thanks." He flipped his hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head as he shoved his hands deep into his jeans pockets and walked slowly towards the door. He could hear some sort of argument going on, and wondered if Vernon brought the police in to arrest him. Could they arrest him? But he was a minor! Oh shit, what if they sent him to Juvie?

He raised a hand and knocked on the door, opening it slightly to see Vernon sitting at his desk. "Uh, Mr. Vernon? You wanted to see me."

Vernon glanced at him. "Yes, Bender, get in here!"

Johnny was about to enter when he glanced up at his parents sitting in front of Vernon, and his heart dropped into his stomach at the look on his father's face. He'd seen a variation of that glare before, but not to that extent. There was no mistaking anger on John Bender's face, but he'd never seen the controlled-rage expression before. He glanced down to where his mother was clutching his father's knee, her face more pale than usual and her lips trembling as she raised glossy eyes to him.

"Uh, hi mom, dad," Johnny mumbled, staring at his feet. He was _so_ expelled... he just hoped it would improve his image.

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, and reminding my forgetful self to update... *ahem*. This is the last pre-written chapter I have at the moment, so updates will take longer as I am in the middle of an intensive thesis. Hopefully about 1/month (maybe more)!**


	10. Dirt

Claire felt incredibly young again - like she was a child - as if she was gangly and awkward and completely vulnerable to judgement. Vernon's words still cut her like a knife... and it wasn't because those words came from Vernon. It was because he was the first person to vocalize no doubt what most of her family and friends thought those 17 years ago when she became pregnant with Elise.

_Get the prom queen impregnated_, alright.

She had been just out of college, no job, and barely married to John Bender - a choice in a husband that her parents had been less than thrilled about. But she had convinced herself that it didn't matter what they thought - they didn't know John like she did - and so she was able to ignore the raised eyebrows and pointed looks. What did she care what they thought, anyways?

"Uh, hi mom, dad..." Johnny said from the doorway and Claire blinked, her vision suddenly focusing on her middle child. He shuffled into the office, shutting the door after him whilst staring at his feet, his red converse carefully destroyed to look just scruffy enough. He kicked the toe of his sneaker against the floor, the rubber squeaking against tile. When he glanced up at her, she became acutely aware of how awful she must look: tears still in her eyes, pale skin blotchy, red nose. She hated that Johnny arrived at that awful moment just before full-and-complete-meltdown.

He looked scared, horrified almost, at the expression on her face. Claire wanted to reach out and wrap her arms around him, bury her face in his mop of brown hair that smelled like Old Spice (because that's what all the 'cool' kids were showering in these days, apparently) But she liked to imagine that he still smelled like a baby, that soft, powdery scent that made her womb ache, and in turn made her throat burn with anger at Vernon for suggesting than any child of hers was a mistake.

But before she could open her mouth to join her husband in tearing Vernon a new one, he was sneering at Johnny. Smug, satisfied, Vernon clearly thought he had the upper hand, and she couldn't argue. John seemed frozen to his seat, his shoulders stiff and his head glued to his neck, not moving, only his eyes following the conversation. "So... here we are again, eh Bender? Well? What have you got to say for yourself? Just how many fire alarms are you going to pull before you end up like-"

Claire wasn't sure exactly how it happened, even though she could almost feel it before it did. Maybe it was that she had lifted her hand off John's leg, perhaps returning some of the circulation to his extremities, or maybe it was how Johnny was still staring at her, avoiding Vernon's yellow teeth and wrinkled forehead. Maybe he just needed a cigarette. But John had stood up sharply, kicking the chair back with a screech to interrupt Vernon, and leaned heavily on the edge of the desk over him, his knuckles turning white against his tanned skin as he clutched the wood.

"What?" he asked quietly, so solemnly that he seemed to be mocking. Claire felt his voice send a strange sense of heat and dread down her throat, pooling in her stomach. She knew that tone; he used it on her more times than she could count. She could practically taste the anger that sat on his shoulders, wrapped around his neck and wound up into his strong jaw.

"You mean to tell me you dragged us all in here over a fuckin fire alarm? Christ Almighty..." John reached into his pocket, as if looking for his blade again, but made no other movement even when he remembered that Claire had taken it from him. She saw that twitch in his jaw as he clenched his teeth together, his large eyes somehow dark and white and wide and narrow simultaneously. His chest seemed to heave inwards and then he slammed his hands up and back down on the desk so hard that everything on it jumped and scattered. Sawdust flew off of his shirt, out of the thick material she hadn't managed to wipe it from, and then his hands had slammed into the desk again, easily cracking the cheap wood.

Vernon was glaring back at John. "You better watch it-"

"Or what? You'll put me in fuckin detention for a month? Well, GUESS WHAT, Dick?" John leaned in, his voice gone from practically yelling to basically nothing, Vernon hanging on to his every word despite himself. Claire felt like she was watching a train wreck, unable to look away. "Come on, hit me. I'm _wrapped up in my own pathetic life_, so fucking hit me. _Kick the living shit out of me._" John smirked then - a dark lifting of one side of his mouth - feeling the familiar urge to flick his hair back out of his eyes, even if his hair was no longer long enough to do so.

Claire wasn't exactly sure how or why, but John had placed a languid emphasis on the words, as if only Vernon would know what he was talking about, as if neither her nor their son were in the room, or if it even mattered. She saw John's unblinking glare, returning Vernon's furrowed brows. And then there was the sound of knuckles breaking nose cartilage, and a spray of hot red liquid spattered across the desk, across the front of John's shirt, and the side of her blouse. She shrieked, slamming her fingers to her lips to rid them of the sudden taste of metal, that strong coppery smell of blood.

"Dad!" Johnny yelled, his eyes wide and mouth agape, staring at Vernon's bloody fist still outstretched across the desk. Vernon looked... pleased, clearly trying to hide the smirk as he looked at the bloody mess that was now the front of John's shirt.

"Jesus, John!" Claire hissed, grabbing her purse, fumbling for a hankerchief. She'd kill him, she'd absolutely kill him. She should've realized he'd take this opportunity to provoke Vernon, to create even more tension in this fucked up situation. That was the last thing they needed while he was still behind the Principal's desk. She wanted to punch John herself, but his face was so full of blood that she figured she'd wait until she could at least mess it up a little.

John grinned at Vernon, his teeth stained with his own blood as he surveyed Vernon's damage with his hand, tenderly touching the bridge of his nose and along the left side of his cheek. "Honestly, Dick, I didn't think you had it in you. Not a bad punch, I'll give you that."

"John-" Finally grabbing the silk cloth from the bottom of her purse - she supposed she'd have to throw it out after this - Claire stood up and tried to grab his elbow, but he shook her off, avoiding her gaze. So he was going to play this game now, was he? Not gonna happen. "John." She grabbed his elbow again, twisting his arm until he grunted in pain and glared down at her. He still had blood running from his nose - its normally hooked shape turned strangely to the left, clearly broken - and into his lips and down his chin, dripping all over the front of his shirt, the floor, and the edge of Vernon's desk. The red colour strangely complemented his hair and skin tone. "John, you should go to the hospital-"

He ignored her, once again tearing his elbow out of her grasp and instead reaching over and grabbing Johnny by his lanky arm. "Let's go, Johnny. Right now."

"B-but-" Johnny looked hopelessly, confused over at Claire, but she just gaped, the hankerchief loose in her fingers. John began pushing their son out of the office, glancing back expectantly at Claire, before once again grinning a bloody smile at Vernon, lifting his arm to wipe off his face with his sleeve, leaving a large red streak across the inside of the material.

"Hope you're on your best behaviour, Dick. You never know when a little birdie might tell the superintendent about your loose fist."

**A/N: Oh, hello. Sorry it took me so long to write this**; **writing this chapter seriously felt like pulling teeth in the past few weeks. ****Please review, and hopefully some are still interested in the fic, and I'll try and update soon. ^^**


	11. Curb

"That was awesome!" Johnny grinned as he walked a little faster to keep up with John, who was holding his head back to stop the blood flow while trying to maneuver his way down the hall. "Hey, dad, I don't have to go back to English, do I? I mean, there's only 20 minutes left-"

John glanced back over his shoulder at Claire. He could practically see the steam coming out her ears, her face growing red with anger, that useless handkerchief still clutched in her hand. He'd have that thing soaked within two seconds, not that his rapidly-turning-red shirt was much better.

"Go back to class, Johnny," she said as Johnny was still grinning excitedly, looking up at his father as only a son could. He looked back at her, his grin faltering before falling completely off his face.

"Moooooooooom."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Just go." She pointed down the hall, and Johnny glanced up at John before sighing. He slumped his shoulders forward and took a turn towards the gym.

"Don't be so hard on the kid," John said thickly through the material of his shirt, holding it up to his nose so that the hem lifted, exposing the lower half of his lightly furred abdomen. Claire looked pointedly away. "It was just a fuckin fire alarm-"

"Oh, and you think that's why I'm pissed?" she snapped at him, grabbing the back of his Y suspenders and shoving him towards the front exit. "Never mind the fact that now Vernon will have an even bigger target on the kids' backs... of course not. You are such a piece of work..."

"Hey, you should be happy I didn't punch him back." John flicked his tongue out over his teeth, wiping the blood off their surface. He tasted it thoughtfully as he felt Claire's hands on his back, pressing down into the shoulderblades heavily as she hurried him through the doors.

"So you're going to blackmail Vernon?" Claire snorted, pushing John out into the cool air, the wind ruffling her hair over her head and sending goosebumps down her spine. John wiped the blood on his fingers off on his already-bloody shirt, giving them a curious once-over. More blood dripped from his nose. Claire sighed in frustration, pushing her handkerchief at John. "Would you just take that?" she added in exasperation.

His dark eyes glanced down at the material. "It'll get ruined," he replied, his voice a bit soft in confusion.

She could've laughed at him, at big bad John Bender concerned that he'd soil his wife's handkerchief. Instead she just smiled briefly, placing her hand on his shoulder to turn him to face her. "If you're not going to the hospital, at least let me fix your nose." And without waiting for a reply, she gripped the bridge of his bleeding nose in two fingers and cracked it back to center.

"Jesus!" John hissed, stomping one of his boots into the concrete steps in pain. He gave her a little push back with his shoulder as both his hands lifted to protect his face. "Give a little warning next time, Standish!"

"Oh, as if you would've let me," she huffed, moving forward to wipe her hands off on his shirt. He looked like he had been cast as the main lead in a gore film. John glanced down at the silk in his hand, then pressed it to his face, giving her a look of defiance. The blood immediately started to steep through.

"I gotta get back," he said, checking the watch on his left arm. He looks back at her over his glasses, now in slightly crooked frames, his dark eyes practically black in his face before turning, starting down the stairs. She sighed, rolling her eyes before following, her heeled boots clicking after the stomp of his steel toes. John stepped into the old Ford truck, the door crunching as the metal protested its movement. Claire leaned against the opposite window and he stretched out an arm, rolling the window down using its manual handle. "You gonna be pissed all day?" he asked in annoyance, looking out at her.

She glared back at him. Brown eyes meeting black. "I'll see you at home, John."

He replied with what sounded like a muttered, _"Whatever"_ before shoving the clutch in angrily with his left foot and starting the vehicle. She stepped back and he glanced at her as he shifted into first, releasing the brake and pulling away from the curb.

**A/N: I swear, I'm planning on finishing this...**


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